Day after day passed, and Astar had now spent nearly a week in the cave. He was growing more and more accustomed to the dangerous life in the forest of this foreign world. Each morning began with a check of the boundaries of his improvised territory, gathering firewood, and hunting. He had learned to navigate by the markings he’d left, knew where to find water, and had a general idea of where edible animals could be found.

  Astar was careful never to eat the same animal’s meat for more than two days, afraid it might spoil and poison him. So he went hunting with his spear. Given his strength and abilities, it didn’t take long for him to figure out how to manage.

  But amid all the trials, there were some encouraging moments. Bit by bit, he began to notice another strange change in his body. The toughness of his flesh wasn’t just for defense. Despite drinking unboiled lake water for several days, he hadn’t felt a single negative effect—no stomach pain, no weakness, no signs of infection or poisoning.

  “Seems the changes in my body run deeper than I thought. No wonder Premarchs and Mnemarchs stop being considered mortal,” he muttered, gazing at his reflection in the lake.

  More than that, the cold that once pierced him to the bone in the mines now barely registered. Nights that used to feel unbearably harsh brought only mild discomfort now.

  “My body really is changing… or rather, adapting,” he thought while filling his waterskins.

  With each passing day, Astar grew more confident. He had already killed several abyssals who happened to cross his path. None of them were on the level of a Gray Mnemarch, which brought him some relief. Each fight gave him more skill, more confidence, and the growing belief that he could, in fact, survive in this world.

  “Today’s the day I try it!” he declared, standing and turning toward the cave.

  All the time he’d spent in the forest, Astar hadn’t dared to test the “backlash” or curse of his Corruption Devouring Technique on himself. He had already slain five abyssals and absorbed the cores of two. He did so in moments when something strange began to stir inside him—when his nerves began to fray, and a bubbling rage clawed its way up from the depths of his chest.

  What terrified him most, though, was the confirmation of a fear he’d tried to suppress: the curse didn’t only manifest from prolonged abstinence from abyssia absorption—it could strike during battle if he used too much power.

  During one fight, after overexerting himself and drawing too deeply on abyssia, Astar had felt something horrifying. It began with a slight mental haze, as if a heavy veil had fallen over his thoughts. Then came the sensation—his heart felt as if it were on fire, and something wild and feral surged from his chest.

  His movements became faster but more savage, almost animalistic. Every action in the fight was driven by an uncontrollable urge to rip his enemy apart at any cost. In that moment, he realized just how close he was to losing himself.

  Fortunately, he had a monster core on hand. The moment the enemy was slain, Astar immediately absorbed abyssia, quickly returning to his senses.

  That experience left him shaken. He knew then that the curse of the Corruption Devouring Technique wasn’t something he could afford to ignore. It was a lurking predator, patient and inevitable, waiting for the right moment to strike.

  “If I let it take over…” he muttered on his way back to his shelter, “I’ll become a monster—just like the Technique describes.”

  That thought haunted him. He feared that, in the heat of the next battle, his body might stop obeying him… that he’d turn into something uncontrollable and destructive.

  Now he understood: every battle carried more than physical risk—it was a threat to his very humanity.

  This realization only confirmed what he already suspected: he wasn’t some noble warrior or grand mage. In this world, he needed to be careful—extremely careful—and avoid drawn-out battles whenever possible. Not only had he grown up on Earth and lacked experience with weapons, but he also risked madness in the midst of combat.

  Today, he was determined to test his limits. He had already “glimpsed” the edge of danger during previous fights. But now he needed to know how long he could go without absorbing abyssia.

  “The last time I absorbed a core was three days ago… Last time, my thoughts started to blur after about the same amount of time,” he said aloud. “Astar, today we’ll find out what happens when we don’t have any abyssia to draw on!” he declared to himself.

  Astar quickly returned to the cave, feeling a strange calm as the silence and dimness of the shelter enveloped him. He took a deep breath and walked to the back corner, where he had created an improvised sleeping area over the past week.

  He had built a simple structure out of logs, placing them close together to create a flat surface. Using his spear, he shaved off the rough edges and bulges, trying to make the bed as comfortable as possible. On top of the logs, he’d piled soft blue moss and broad leaves found in the forest. They served as a makeshift mattress, providing a relatively soft surface to sleep on.

  "Some comfort at least," he murmured, lowering himself onto the bed.

  He ran a hand over the blue moss, which he had already discovered wasn’t just soft, but retained warmth. That little discovery had felt like a victory in the early days.

  Sitting on the bed, Astar set the spear down beside him and closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sounds of the forest. Outside, the faint rustle of leaves and the occasional clicking of insects could be heard. That dangerous silence no longer frightened him—instead, it reminded him that he was alive, and everything was still going according to plan.

  "Three days," he whispered, as if reaffirming his resolve.

  He knew the coming hours would be difficult—not physically, but mentally. The awareness that he was stepping into something so dangerous stirred his nerves, but he had no other choice.

  “There aren’t any monsters that strong in this forest. The one that killed Dalanar was an exception… I could start looking for a path to the city, but first I need to understand the limitations. If the curse of the technique turns out to be too much, I’ll need to collect extra cores. Just to be safe…” he thought, brushing the hair from his face.

  Astar reached for the waterskin, took a few gulps, then set it beside the bed. Tonight, he was going to find out what would happen if his body went without an external source of abyssia longer than ever before.

  "I'm ready," he said quietly, staring toward the slowly dying fire.

  The sun crept behind the horizon, casting the sky in deep purples and fiery oranges. The forest surrounding the cave was descending into shadow, and with nightfall came a new chorus—sporadic cries of nocturnal creatures, the whisper of wind through the treetops, and a faint hum in the distance.

  The cave grew darker by the minute, but Astar remained still on his makeshift bed. His eyes stayed closed, his breathing steady, though a subtle tension coiled through his body.

  At first, it was only a faint discomfort. A light tingling at the tips of his fingers, as though his nerves were sending mixed signals. The sensation grew rapidly.

  His body began to tremble. At first, the spasms were slight—barely noticeable—but soon they spread, trembling overtaking his entire frame. Astar inhaled deeply, trying to remain calm, but it didn’t help. Something inside him was building—something terrifying.

  "It’s starting…" he whispered, gritting his teeth.

  The feeling was horrifically unpleasant. It was as if he couldn’t get enough air. His chest began to tighten, and his lungs seemed to resist every full breath. Each inhale felt shallow and strained.

  But that wasn’t all. The sensation wasn’t confined to his lungs—it was everywhere. In his arms, his legs, his skull—every cell in his body seemed to scream for something vital it no longer had.

  "How long now?" he thought, rocking slightly, trying to ease the spasms. "Damn it! I have to know how bad this can get… Where’s the line—when do I start to lose my mind?"

  He gripped the wooden frame of his bed, trying to steady himself. His muscles twitched involuntarily, as if his body was fighting for survival but didn’t know how.

  "Just hold on," Astar muttered through clenched teeth, overcome by pain. "This isn’t the end… not yet."

  The tremors worsened, but he refused to give in. Every moment stretched into eternity, but he knew that if he let panic take over now, he’d never find out where his true limits lay.

  But soon, the physical pain and discomfort began to give way to something far more destructive. Emotional chaos surged within him like a bubbling vat of tar.

  Waves of fury, frustration, and raw anger crashed over him, one after another. They rose up from the deepest corners of his mind, dredging up everything he’d ever tried to bury.

  First came the thoughts of his parents—how they’d abandoned him. Of the bloodline that had pulled him from Earth and cursed him. Even grudges he thought he’d let go resurfaced, but now they were sharper, magnified.

  "Why did they do this to me? Why am I here—in this cursed world?!"

  Then came the fury turned inward. His own weaknesses, his fears, his failures—they all became blades, tearing him apart from within.

  "I hate it!" he hissed through clenched teeth, fists trembling. "What was the point of working so damn hard if it all ended up like this—me living in a damn cave?! Even on Earth, I barely got to enjoy life! All I ever did was work!"

  His body continued to shake, though he barely noticed now. Everything inside him was on fire with rage. He clenched his jaw so tight it felt like his teeth might shatter, and low, almost animalistic growls began to escape his throat.

  “Grr… Damn this curse…” he growled, but then his voice broke into a snarl. “I’m suffering because of you bastards!”

  He didn’t know if he was speaking aloud or merely thinking. The fury surged through him, drowning everything else until nothing remained but the searing blaze of emotion.

  Astar clutched his head with both hands, trying to stem the avalanche. It felt like his mind was about to shatter, like he’d never be able to regain control.

  “No! It’s the curse—it’s all the curse! Hold on, Astar, as long as you still can!” the thought flashed through his mind.

  But realizing that only made it worse. Everything he felt intensified, as if the curse itself was mocking him—forcing him to relive the worst moments of his life again and again, only this time with terrifying clarity.

  The emotions were tearing him apart from the inside, but somehow, his consciousness still clung to a shred of control. His mind grasped at slivers of logic, at tiny fragments of willpower still anchoring him to sanity.

  Then, everything changed in an instant—

  Pain. All-consuming, unbearable pain burst through his body!

  It was so overwhelming that for a moment it felt like his insides had been melted into molten metal, and his bones were trying to pierce through his flesh.

  “Aaaaagh!” His scream ripped through the cave, echoed off the walls, and spilled into the forest beyond like a wave of agony.

  Astar collapsed, falling from the bed, barely managing to land on his knees, his palms digging into the dirt. His fingers tore deep grooves into the dust, his nails cracking under the strain. It felt like his body had declared war on itself.

  “My bones… they’re trying to burst out of me!” a thought flared, barely audible through the haze of pain. “No—it’s not the bones… it’s the curse! It’s killing me!”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  His muscles contracted on their own, wracked by violent spasms. His skin burned, as if it were being peeled away. Every nerve in his body screamed in unison, amplifying the torment to its peak.

  This wasn’t just suffering—it was something that made him want death.

  “Kill me!” he cried out, his voice cracking into a feral roar.

  As if his body no longer belonged to him, Astar instinctively reached for the core hidden within his clothing. His eyes flew open, wide with terror and desperation.

  His trembling hand found the cursed object, fingers wrapping around its smooth surface. The core responded instantly—its dark energy surged into him at once.

  Astar clutched it to his chest like a lifeline, and without hesitation, began absorbing the abyssia, greedily drawing it into his tormented body.

  “Gkaah!” he gasped, as if he were drowning and had just reached the surface.

  In that moment, with the core gripped tightly in his hands, Astar saw something horrifying in the flickering firelight. Across his skin, thin black lines had begun to spread—like cracks on parched earth. They looked alive, writhing tattoos pulsing beneath the surface, threatening to rip him apart from within.

  The lines twisted and branched out wider, creeping across his arms, chest, and neck. In the firelight, they looked like a charred pattern slowly consuming his body. Each movement brought a new wave of pain, as if these dark “fractures” were trying to tear him open.

  “What… is this?!” he rasped, breath caught in his throat from sheer terror.

  But as the energy from the core flowed into him, everything began to change. The abyssia rushed in like a river, flooding the emptiness and halting the curse. The black lines, which just moments ago had threatened his very existence, began to slowly recede, as if pulled inward by an invisible force.

  “Come on… Come on!” Astar rasped, tightening his grip on the core.

  With each passing second, the lines faded further until they vanished completely beneath his skin. The agony ravaging his body began to ebb. The spasms stopped first, then his breathing leveled out, and finally, his muscles relaxed. His mind, too, began to stabilize.

  He gasped for breath, still kneeling, the core clenched tightly in his hands. His body was recovering, and with that, clarity returned.

  “God… what the hell was I thinking,” he exhaled, staring at his hands, which now looked completely normal.

  But the memory of those black lines remained vivid in his mind. That hadn’t been ordinary pain or a passing side effect. That had been the rampage of abyssia, beginning to lose its connection to the Corruption Devouring Technique.

  “Shit… this isn’t just a curse,” he muttered, lowering his head in exhaustion. “It’s a slow, agonizing death. There’s no damn way I’ll survive going through that again…”

  Astar stared at the ground with empty eyes, haunted by the memory of that recent nightmare. Sweat streamed down his spine, his face, his entire body, dripping to the cave floor.

  After enduring such a horror, Astar understood one thing with perfect clarity: from now on, he could not afford to exist without spare cores—or anything else that contained abyssia.

  “No way… I’m not living with this damned thing inside me… This curse will be the death of me. I have to do something about it!”

  In the silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire, a thought began to form in Astar’s mind—one that scared him with its simplicity. He realized he had underestimated the curse. It wasn’t just an inconvenience or a side effect. The constant fear that one mistake or moment of hesitation could lead to a nightmare death was unbearable.

  “I can’t live like this…” he exhaled, staring at the core now glowing with a pale blue-white light in his hands.

  But with that horror came resolve. Astar couldn’t believe the curse was unbreakable. Everything in this world had a source, a system, and a weakness. If this technique was created, there had to be a way to reverse it—or at the very least, neutralize its consequences.

  “If my ancestor created it… then the only ones who might know anything—are my kin.” The thought clenched in his jaw like steel.

  His family. The bloodline that ripped him from a successful life on Earth and dragged him into this world—only to curse him as well. And yet, they might be his only chance at escaping this horror.

  But that realization raised even more questions. Where were they? How would he find them? And if he did—would they help him, or harm him?

  “I’m so sick of these damned secrets…” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. “If they know how to break this curse, I’ll find them… and make them talk!”

  Yet even that plan felt distant and abstract. First, he needed to understand this world. How was it structured? How vast was it? Where could he start looking?

  “Alright… I need to find out how far the nearest city is,” he said aloud, rising to his feet.

  He glanced at his hands, still feeling the faint thrum of abyssia settling back into his body. One thing was certain now—he couldn’t leave the forest without a proper stockpile of cores.

  “A few more days here… I’ll kill a few more abyssals, stock up on cores… then I’ll move,” he said quietly, sweeping his gaze across the cave.

  Clenching his fists, Astar looked toward his spear. It had become his companion, a source of comfort, even if it was just an illusion.

  “I won’t be a victim of this curse. I will find a way to live properly in this damned world,” he said, more firmly this time. “Even if I have to work hard like a slave to do it!”

  But the moment those words left his mouth, a dry chuckle followed. He couldn’t help it—maybe it was the emotion, maybe the absurdity of it all—but he laughed.

  “How ridiculous… ‘work like a slave.’” He let out another short laugh. “I am a slave… to abyssia and the Corruption Devouring Technique.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Astar had no idea that just a few kilometers from his cave, a small camp had been set up. In the heart of the dense forest, a fire burned, and more than a dozen figures stood around its perimeter—clearly guarding someone important.

  There were no humans in this camp. Its inhabitants belonged to a race distinguished by their unusual appearance. Their skin was a deep shade of blue or bluish-gray, shimmering faintly in the light as if dusted with a barely visible sheen.

  Each of them had long, slightly curved horns, the base blending with the color of their skin and gradually darkening to black near the tips. Their ears were long, pointed, and elegant—shaped as if to catch the faintest sounds of the forest. Behind them extended a long, smooth tail ending in a sharp tip.

  The camp was encircled by softly glowing crystals, used by the beings as additional sources of light. Against the darkness of the forest, they cast a gentle bluish glow, making the camp resemble an oasis in a sea of shadows.

  But just a few minutes ago, their peace had been shattered.

  A terrifying scream—raw with pain and despair—tore through the night, echoing across the forest. It was Astar’s scream, and its power and depth made even these seasoned travelers freeze in place.

  “That scream…” whispered a girl who looked to be around twenty—clearly someone of importance within the camp.

  She was petite and delicate, yet her beauty and charm were striking. Her jet-black hair fell just below her chin, and her deep navy-blue eyes perfectly complemented her skin tone.

  “That wasn’t a beast,” said a man in their group in a gravelly voice. His horns were slightly longer and thicker, and a mask covered his nose and mouth. “This area isn’t popular for hunting—it lies on the border of several territorial zones. But it seems some poor soul wandered into the jaws of the abyssals.”

  “I hope it doesn’t concern us,” said a young man seated beside the girl, raising an ornate cup and taking a sip. “Because once we reach the next city, I plan on getting very, very drunk. Ha!”

  His words clearly didn’t please the petite girl—she gave him a sharp, disapproving glare.

  He bore a striking resemblance to her. The same attractive face, blue eyes, and black hair—though his was shorter. To be fair, he was taller and leaner, with a build closer to Astar’s.

  Though the boy masked it well, the scream had clearly rattled them both. Even here, surrounded by guards and crystal light, they felt the oppressive danger breathing through the forest. They knew that the sound hadn’t just been pain—it carried something else. Something like madness.

  “No threats here. The young masters can rest assured,” the man replied calmly.

  “We’ll protect you, young master Lukaris. And of course, our precious young lady Sirael,” added another woman guard with a smile, standing near the perimeter.

  After a short pause, the man—Zunar—spoke again, as if to fully ease their concerns. “We have ten Warriors and five Premarchs. There are no abyssals on this route strong enough to cause us real trouble.”

  Lukaris seemed eager to lighten the mood. He looked toward Zunar and raised a playful brow, taking another sip from his cup.

  “With muscle like yours protecting us, we’ll be fine,” he said with a smirk. “But tell me—how much farther until we reach that so-called ‘relatively safe’ part of the route?”

  Zunar, standing slightly apart with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, turned to him. His expression was unreadable behind the mask, but his voice was softer than before.

  “We need to pass through three small towns. The roads aren’t the easiest, but there should be no major threats. I and the other Premarchs will handle any cursed creatures we encounter.”

  He paused, as if weighing his next words, then continued:

  “After that, we’ll finally reach Koros—a large city belonging to the powerful human Runhart Clan. It lies on the shores of the Azure Sea and serves as a key logistics hub.”

  “Runhart?” Lukaris echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve heard of them… Humans with ambitions, aren’t they?”

  "Exactly right," Zunar nodded. "The Runhart Clan controls a significant portion of this region’s trade routes. All ships from the Odrer of Wanderings and Trade sail the ocean to the eastern human capital, then travel upriver to Koros. That way, they immediately reach the heart of the continent’s northern region. Through the Azure Sea, they can deliver goods directly to demons, necromancers, and—"

  But he didn’t finish. Lukaris smirked and cut him off:

  "—and to us, ha-ha. Such a shame the Order’s ships can’t reach our lands through the ocean… If not for the sharp reefs, currents, and jagged cliffs, logistics to our territory would be easier, and we wouldn’t have to pay humans a transit tax."

  It was becoming clear that Lukaris was not as careless or foolish as he first appeared.

  "Interesting," Sirael interjected, her melodic voice drawing everyone’s attention. "If I understand correctly, we’ll be taking the same route—just in reverse?"

  "Yes. Things will be easier from there, my lady," Zunar replied confidently. "We’ll travel along the great Voler River—also called the Golden Waterway. It runs straight through human territory, west to east."

  "And then we’ll see the ocean?" the girl asked, her eyes sparkling.

  "Exactly. You needn’t worry—on the Voler, we’ll be under the protection of human Mnemarchs. It’s a vital route, and there’s no longer any need to cross wild lands on foot. Far safer than our current journey," he explained with a nod.

  Sirael fell briefly silent, casting a thoughtful look at the glowing crystals surrounding the camp. Their soft bluish light seemed meant to hold back the darkness, but after the scream they had heard earlier, even these comforting lights now felt less reliable.

  "Lukaris," she turned to her brother, "I won’t lie—I’m burning with curiosity. But don’t you think our father sent us too far away?"

  Lukaris gave a faint chuckle, lifting his goblet.

  "We’re from a merchant house, and we’re obligated to learn the craft. Father used all his connections to find us a worthy teacher. Can’t help it if that teacher happens to be on the other side of the world, ha-ha."

  His joking tone earned a quiet laugh from Sirael, though Zunar simply shook his head and turned his gaze back toward the forest. Even if he claimed there was no danger, the scream still echoed in his thoughts. He had been entrusted with the safety of these two noble youths—he couldn’t afford to lower his guard, not even for a second.

  Sirael just smiled sweetly and gave a small nod. Her tail swayed contentedly behind her, as if she had already cast off the memory of that dreadful sound.

  "Lukaris, what do you think the Order of Wanderings and Trade looks like?" Sirael suddenly asked, her eyes alight with curiosity as she turned to her brother.

  Lukaris looked up from his goblet, thought for a moment, and smirked.

  "Honestly, sis? I have no idea," he replied with a shrug. "But based on what Father told us, and from what I’ve read… it’s an unimaginably powerful organization."

  He leaned back, gesturing as if painting a picture of a vast city or something even more impressive.

  "Just think," he went on. "They oversee every trade and logistics route across the continent. That means they don’t just need endless caravans and ships—they also need powerful Mnemarchs to guard and escort all those routes. On top of that, they assign danger levels to every path and update their guides and maps constantly."

  Sirael nodded, already picturing grand buildings and massive archives filled with maps.

  "So it’s not just transportation and protection—it’s research too, isn’t it?" she asked.

  "Exactly," Lukaris confirmed. "They say the Order holds all of the continent’s commercial and exploratory power. From charting new routes to developing new ways to harness memoria. Honestly, there’s no better place for us to study trade."

  At that moment, Zunar spoke again. He nodded solemnly and said:

  "One could argue the only organization above the Order is the Church of Memoria itself. Though maybe that’s just rumor..."

  "Not rumor," Lukaris replied with a smile. "In fact, the upper ranks of the Order answer directly to the Church of Memoria. Word is, the Order’s even allowed to venture into forbidden territories—those fully corrupted by abyssia. On those expeditions, they’re always escorted by Mnemarchs of the Church, which allows them to recover valuable relics and materials."

  "Ugh, terrifying..." muttered a tall, muscular woman standing guard at the edge of camp. "No amount of coin would get me to cross the Great Boundary of Memoria. In those lands, there’s nothing but death and curses. I’ve heard the soul of anyone who steps foot there starts to rot with abyssia..."

  The others responded similarly. The mere mention of the forbidden lands darkened their expressions. It was as if an instinctive fear gripped them all—one they couldn’t shake.

  But at that moment, Lukaris burst into laughter and cheerfully said, “Don’t worry, they don’t let weaklings like us anywhere near that place. Any expedition into the Forbidden Dead Wastes is made up of a large number of powerful Mnemarchs. In fact, nearly half of them are exorcists from the Church of Memoria. Only with their help can anyone survive out there and fight back against the abyssia.”

  Sirael smiled, clearly impressed by her brother’s words.

  “Seems like all those drinking sessions didn’t kill your memory after all. You actually remembered our lessons from the tutors and Father,” she remarked teasingly.

  “Well, someone had to,” Lukaris shot back with a grin.

  “Lukaris!” Sirael exclaimed. “I happen to have other strong suits!”

  “Sis, you’ve got to look at the world more broadly. My tavern talks are actually really useful, you know. I’ve picked up loads of information from traders, hunters, and wanderers!” he declared proudly, with a sly glint in his eyes.

  Zunar, standing nearby, allowed himself the faintest smile beneath his mask.

  “Your father made the right call, sending you to the Order of Wanderings and Trade,” he said suddenly. “If anyone can teach real commerce, it’s them. But before you start dreaming about trade, you’ll need to make it to Koros first. And I advise you both, young lords, to conserve your strength. Tomorrow will be a long journey.”

  Sirael and Lukaris exchanged glances but didn’t argue. Despite the light-hearted tone, they both sensed the hidden sternness in Zunar’s voice.